Page 19

I startle slightly, my spoon slapping against the white bowl, a few splatters of soup landing across the lip of the porcelain. My eyes dart up across the dark brown oak table, locking on my dad for a moment, before looking back toward my meal.

“Can you repeat it?”

He sighs, wiping his mouth with his napkin before laying it down at his side carefully. It’s a cue as much as anything else, so I follow his lead, resting my spoon carefully.

Being in this house feels so similar and yet different from the one I grew up in. Just as beautiful and grand. The same rules, the same intensity in the air. The same thumping of my heart in my chest as I try to move slowly, like I’m treading through molasses with each movement to ensure I get it all right.

But my question is a faux pas. I see the subtle glance he gives my right ear, before I tuck my hair back and stutter out: “I’m w-w-wearing it. Promise.”

He clears his throat, still frustrated. “I asked if you would be interested in accompanying me on the away games coming up.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip, fiddling with the hem of my skirt. “I . . . I’m not sure.” I barely tamp down the need to ask Do you want me to?

I’d rather my dad just tell me his expectations as plainly as possible. Sometimes I think it’s the only way I can function. Even if it makes me pathetic, it’s the only thing I have to keep me going.

“Otherwise, you can stay behind, and Carson and his father can visit with you. Spend some time together. Plan.”

I close my eyes tight and grip my own thigh like I can force myself not to say how I truly feel. I’m almost surprised with the intensity of my body’s response. Usually mentions of Carson and the engagement pass over me like walking through mist. But that was before seeing Toren Kane again.

Now it feels like preparing for my execution.

“No. I think I’d like to go with you,” I say, voice tight with control.

His brow furrows at my words, before his head shakes. “Maybe it’s best we wait until February, so you’re settled in.”

“Okay.”

My dad nods, before putting his napkin back in his lap. I follow the cue—it means we can continue eating.

“And how is everything else going?” he asks. “You know you can still move in here with me.”

I shake my head. “I like the town house. I think it’s . . . good, to be on my own.”

There’s a heavy weight in his pause now and I hesitate with the spoon nearly at my mouth for whatever it is he’ll say. His eyes tilt down and to the side.

I wonder if he’s thinking of my mother.

“The roommate search is going well?” he asks, though I’m nearly sure it wasn’t what he’d planned to say. “I was hoping you’d have a roommate before classes started.”

I nod. “I know, but I do have a few girls interested in looking at it, so I’m sure I’ll have a roommate soon.”

“All right. If you’re happy . . .”

Happy is relative to us LaBlancs.

I remember when my dad first said that to me, as a child when I’d asked if he was happy. I didn’t know what it meant then and I still don’t understand it now. But I did know that something inside me always felt a little wrong, a little broken. My mom had been the same way, a permanent sleepy frown always etched into her beautiful face.

“Mommy?” I ask, swinging my legs up like I might climb across the table to where she’s laid her head down next to the food. My dad wipes his mouth with his napkin, setting it down to the side and standing from his chair.

He comes around behind my mother, her red hair waving all around her, eyes closed like a beautiful princess waiting for her prince to kiss her.

“Daddy?”

His eyes dart to me, only briefly, before he’s whispering into her ear, trying to wake her. Her brows furrow and she blinks. Her eyes open as he pulls her up to stand slowly, holding her completely around the middle.

“Mommy’s just tired, Lillian. She needs more sleep, okay? Stay there and be good.”

I shake my head and try to focus on whatever he’s just asked me this time, because I don’t want to ask him to repeat himself again.